An Evening With Miss Edith
by iscariot
Summary: Our favourite doll speaks her mind


Usual Acknowledgements re: Ownership. Grrr Argh Set anywhere after S4 PG13 for Language  
  
Reviews are good.  
  
AN EVENING WITH MISS EDITH  
  
God knows I try, but let's face it; she's completely fucking nuts.  
  
'Don't piss the slayer off', I tell her. So what does she do? She kills Kendra.  
  
'You're onto a good thing with Spike' I say. 'He's completely devoted to you' I tell her. So of course she goes off with that bloody chaos demon.  
  
You have a problem with a doll swearing? Tough. You want to talk about frustration? Do you know how many times I've wanted to slap that demented bitch upside the head only to be brutally pulled back into reality by the fact I'm fucking 10 inches tall and inanimate to boot.  
  
It's fortunate I can't drink otherwise I'd be lifetime member of Alcoholics Anonymous, either that or sleeping on a park bench under a rumpled copy of The Times.  
  
It drives me spastic listening to her rambling on about stars this and whirling that and the future everything else. You'd think she was on drugs if it wasn't for the pillock Angelus turning her into an ambulatory vegetable. Sure, turn her into a vampire, but purée her mind? Sure genius, but you're the one that has to cart her around later.  
  
The unbelievable thing was that he did. To paraphrase Spike, he was a ponce from the beginning.  
  
The mad bitch had some good points tho; she at least talked to me; even if she did speak to me like I was some retarded child. Mind you, anything had to be better than being ignored by Darla, ignored by Angelus and humoured by Spike. Thinking back on that previous statement, being ignored by Darla wasn't actually that bad, sure she was vicious and powerful like a good vamp should be. And judging by the reaction of all and sundry she was a bloody good fuck. But frankly she had the intelligence and personality of a fucking moth. I've never heard anyone whine so much; "Angelus this, Angelus that, Angelus everything bleeding thing else"; with a map, both hands and a flashlight she still couldn't find her own butt without help - and that help was usually attached to Angelus' groin.  
  
Actually, thinking back, when they weren't killing everything that moved in a five-mile radius they were constantly shagging; and I mean constantly. Get a fucking hobby people. Now, I am sure the superhuman endurance, strength and everything else that went with it was nice but Christ, I am trying to get some sleep here. Every damn time we settled somewhere new they had to go out and kill the neighbough's in the three houses on either side to stop them complaining about the noise. Someone called the police once because they thought someone was being tortured [well they were but we won't go into that particular perversion] and the four of them ended up draining the entire bloody police force. Admittedly, it was a small town, but still.  
  
Of course when they did get hobbies it didn't get any better. Darla delighted in pulling the arms off children; said something about flies not doing it for her anymore. I ask you, what use is an armless child? As for Angelus, I was fairly certain he was trying to drink his way across Europe. Don't believe his blather about developing an appreciation for fine wines, that his tongue wasn't permanently dyed purple is one of the greater mysteries of the universe. I didn't see much of Spike, apparently in developed an interest in railroads. But Druscilla took things to a whole new level. Her particular perversions probably had a lot to do with her past as much as it was the fact that she was as mad as a bag of hammers, but you would think that there were limits that even insanity wouldn't cross. In short, Druscilla had a thing for the clergy, especially nuns, she took great pleasure in nailing them to a cross and then arguing with them about the bible. She would go for days at a time, before finally burying them upside down at the bottom of the garden taking great pains to leave the feet sticking out.  
  
"Druscilla' I'd say, 'people will see the feet. This will draw attention to you'.  
  
'Miss Edith doesn't like the feet' she'd report to the others, 'bad nuns, nasty feet'.  
  
If it were possible I would have banged my head against the wall, instead I get offered a bloody cup of tea. I can't walk, move or anything and she's offering me a fucking cup of tea in a cup that comes up to my neck. What am I supposed to do, dive in?  
  
Mind you there was some amusement to be had, like the time when she convinced Darla that she was going to be killed by a postman - so of course Darla swung between abject terror of and homicidal rages towards postmen. It got to the point where the central London constabulary were escorting postmen everywhere.  
  
It would have been a lot easier if Angelus had just killed her after driving her mad, but no, he wanted her gift of foresight. It took the idiot only a short while to realise that he'd driven her so completely off the edge that the demented machinations of her mind were indistinguishable from her genuine prophecies. But he could never be sure what was real and what was fantasy and Druscillia, bless her heart, took absolute advantage of it.  
  
So what can you do? She's off her head and she drives me batshit, but she's mine and frankly, who else would take her? 


End file.
